


And The World Was Gone

by autisticalistair



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alistair never went to the Wardens, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Surana never went to the Circle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 20:52:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8342290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autisticalistair/pseuds/autisticalistair
Summary: Aris Surana never went to the Circle, and at twelve years old, ran away from home and became a healer hidden in the Hinderlands. Alistair never went to the Templars, and was raised by his mother among Grey Wardens and mages alike, going on to join the Fereldan army. The Blight was stopped by Warden Cousland, and Fereldan entered an era of peace, broken only by the mage rebellion at the tail end of the decade. After a fateful meeting, Aris and Alistair find themselves protecting Redcliffe from the rogue Templars hunting down rebel mages, and when Aris is faced with people from his past, questions of fate and responsibility are brought up, and Aris battles his true demons for the first time in his life.





	

Redcliffe was the kind of town where everyone knew someone who knew someone. For humans, that was fine. For people who weren’t mages, that was fine. Hell, even for some elves, that was fine. As long as you kept your head down and did as you were told, you got to go home unharmed and with money to feed you and your family.

Aris’ family didn’t quite have that luxury.

For one, his mother had faded vallaslin on her face. It had been done in bold black lines once, but over the years, it had faded away around her nose and her chin. His father had it, too, but his was easier to hide, as long as his bandana covered his forehead. He made a point of always wearing it when he was out of the house, and taking it off at home. No one could hurt them at home, he had said to Aris once. As a child, Aris had believed him. Growing up, he realised that that wasn’t quite true, no matter how many times Allegra set up wards.

Truth always gets out, Aris learned young. Truth, and the true nature of people faced with things they don’t understand.

Aris was twelve years old when his parents were killed.

They told him to run, and so he did. He ran as far as he could, into the Hinterlands, as far from Redcliffe as he could with a bag of emergency food and water on his back, Dalish books and trinkets in there too, his fathers staff in his hand. _It belonged to me when I was the Keeper’s First. I haven’t used it since_. Caolán Surana had been the one to tell Aris to run, handing him the staff before pushing him out of the back door. Aris didn’t even look back.

Aris had hid in caves, moving at night to avoid Templars as best as he could. If he was close enough to their camps, he stayed awake all night listening to them talk, some of them looking for him, some just scouting the area. The ones that had been chasing him gave up after a week, assuming he had died of hunger or dehydration, or, as one of them had put it, _fallen face first into Dead Ram’s Grove and drowned_. Aris had done none of those things. He knew how to hunt. He knew which roots and fungi he could eat. He knew where to get fresh water and how to purify it if he needed to. He had been twelve, not an idiot.

The Templar’s never found him. Aris walked around the Hinterlands until he found an abandoned cabin and claimed it as his own. It took a while to rebuild it, and being short and skinny and _twelve_ was a bit of a hindrance, but gradually, it became whole again. A fire was lit and Aris could actually cook his food for the first time in weeks. He could dry his clothes and let his wounds heal. Wolves and rams were equally dangerous if you got them riled up enough.

That was seventeen years ago.

Seventeen years can do a lot to a person.

-

“Take that twice a day, morning and night, for a week. Your cough should clear up,” Aris said, handing the woman a small bottle. She smiled at him kindly and passed him the coin owed for it. She thanked him and left, and Aris closed the door after her. That was his last customer of the day, he was sure of it. No one was going to trek all the way to his little hut for cough medicine once the sun went down.

But once the sun went down, Aris went hunting. He took his apron off and hung it at the door before going over to wash his hands. His fingertips would be stained green with chloroform for a couple of days, but it was harmless. He got the plant matter out from under his nails and the remnants of honey from his skin, making his palms a little sticky. His wrist ached from using the mortar and pestle, but it wasn’t really an issue. He could still use a bow, and check the traps he had set this morning.

Aris’ bow was leaning against the foot of his bed. He pulled on his jacket and picked it up, along with the quiver of arrows. Even as a mage, Aris had learned how to hunt. And he was a damn good shot. One arrow, one shot, one kill. That’s what Allegra had taught him. She had been a hunter in her clan.

Aris left the house and pulled his hood up against the wind. Winter was approaching quick, much quicker than last year. Aris was going to have to dry more meat if he was going to make it through the colder months. He wondered if any of the farmers would miss a small druffalo in this weather… No. No, he wasn’t going to steal, not unless he had to. There were plenty of rams in the area, he’d just need to close up shop for a couple of days to get it done.

He headed towards his traps first. One had caught a hare and strung her up a good few meters in the air. Aris cut her down and put her in the game bag at his hip. Dinner for one, already caught. He could go home now and eat, and now worry about catching anything for the next two days, if he was careful.

No, it was nearing true winter, and Aris had to be careful. He moved silently through the trees, listening carefully for the sound of animal steps, their snuffling breath, their little sounds. They were things Aris was accustomed to. He stopped every few minutes to listen. He was near a stream. That could mean small animals. Maybe even deer, if he was lucky.

He made his way towards the bank carefully. It was slippery underfoot, but his lack of shoes made it easy to balance properly. He used to have boots, but he had since outgrown them, and didn’t want to risk going back to Redcliffe to buy now ones. It wasn’t worth the danger, and besides, he preferred to be barefoot anyway. Allegra had always insisted he go barefoot when they went hunting together, or when Caolan took him far away from Redcliffe and taught him how to control his abilities.

He skidded down the last of the bank and landed ankle deep in the water. It was freezing, and he made a noise.

No, _he_ didn’t make the noise. He bit his lip to stop it.

Without a second thought, Aris nocked and arrow and drew it back, turning in the direction the noise was coming from. He didn’t dare shoot yet, just in case… well, just in case. The sound that had come didn’t sound like any animal Aris had ever heard. _It’s not a human_ , he told himself. _No one is stupid enough to be out here in the middle of the night, except for you_. He walked through the river, making soft splashing noises with his feet, looking in the darkness at what was just getting louder. He slid the arrow back into his quiver and held his right hand out, his palm glowing with a ball of white light.

At first, he thought he was just looking at a small wounded druffalo. Whatever it was, was curled in on itself, clearly hurt by the noises it was making. Aris got closer, though his gut instinct was to _run away_. Yeah, like he was about to do that. His stubborn streak was less of a streak and more of a road to stupid decisions done out of spite.

“Hello?” he said. He was about to tell himself not to be an idiot, and that animals couldn’t talk, when he got a semi-coherent response.

“Ugh… wha’s’tha?” it asks. Oh. A human. Okay.

“Light. Are you alright?” Aris asked. He knelt down next to the human, trying to find its head.

“Stabbed,” they said. They rolled over onto their back and the light from Aris’ hand illuminated their face. Long, straight nose, messy hair, closed eyes. “Didn’t kill me, ob… obviously. But I think I’m getting there.”

“Shit.” He put his bow down and went to take their hand from their stomach, where they were no doubt covering the wound. Their hand was bloodied. Aris kept talking to them. “What’s your name?”

“Alistair. Yours?”

“Aris. Are you a soldier?”

“Was. Don’t think I qualify anymore.”

“Why did they stab you?”

“Don’t know. Must’ve done something wrong, though. I can’t remember.”

“Alistair, you have a metal shard in your stomach. I’m going to take it out, but it’s going to hurt, okay? I need you to be quiet.”

Alistair nodded and opened his eyes. As an afterthought, Aris took his hand and squeezed gently. He had delivered children in all sorts of weird and complicated situations, he could take one shard out of a fallen soldiers stomach. But for some reason, he couldn’t help the nerves in his gut. He had never done this, found a soldier in a river a mile away from his home in need of medical attention. This was completely new.

He started working and expected Alistair to scream. Instead, he just squeezed Aris’ hand tight, his other hand digging into the soft earth at the bottom of the stream. The shard was small, so Aris had to _really_ concentrate, focusing on moving it and getting it out and causing as little damage as possible. It was quick work, really, but it felt like a lifetime. The shard came out and Aris caught it, and Alistair let go of his hand, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“You alright?” he asked, touching Alistair’s face. He got a nod and a pained groan.

“Been better. Thanks,” Alistair said.

“I’m not done yet. The next part hurts worse, so… brace yourself, I guess,” Aris said. He brushed his thumb along Alistair’s cheek and then pulled his hand away to join the other at the wound in his stomach. He gave Alistair a few seconds to breathe and get himself ready. “Sorry about this.”

Aris let loose the healing energy he had been holding in, and Alistair squeezed his eyes shut against it, biting his lip so he didn’t scream out. Aris had to look away from his face as he did it, his expression pained him too much. It was over in about ten seconds, but he knew that it must have felt like forever to Alistair. Aris had had to do this to himself once or twice, and he had passed out immediately after. He hoped Alistair wouldn’t pass out, because he didn’t exactly feel like carrying a man twice his size to his hut in the middle of nowhere.

The light from his hands dimmed and Alistair breathed heavily, in and out, making little agonised noises. He turned his head to the side and opened his mouth, his lower lip bleeding from where he had bit down so hard. Aris almost reached out to wipe the blood away, but instead, he just knelt over Alistair and took his face in his hands, making Alistair open his eyes to check that he was okay. He had terrible blood loss, and he wouldn’t be walking straight for a while, but at least he was _alive_.

“I’m going to need you to try to stand up for me, okay?” he said. Alistair nodded. He was half out of it, Aris could tell, but he blinked a few times and tried to pull himself together. Aris stood and stepped back as Alistair pushed himself up into a sitting position, groaning with the effort, and no doubt the agony. Aris held his hand out and Alistair took it, pulling himself up while Aris tensed up. He was unsteady on his feet, but waved off Aris’ attempt to keep him upright, and instead, waded slowly through the water towards the bank. Aris followed.

“Take it slow,” he said. He walked ahead of Alistair and up the bank, picking up his bow where he had left it. Alistair made it up and balanced himself against a tree, breathing hard and clutching at his stomach. Aris wasn’t sure if he was about to collapse or throw up. He was sure he didn’t really want him to do either. He took Alistair’s arm.

“I don’t live far from here, and I have a spare bed. I can keep an eye on you while you heal,” he said. Alistair looked at him, his hair stuck to his forehead and his skin visibly pale and clammy. “Come with me, you’ll be safe.”

“What if they find us?” Alistair said.

“I’ve been hiding from the Templars my whole life, trust me, a bunch of Fereldan soldiers won’t be able to find either of us as long as we’re careful.” Aris squeezed his arm and gave Alistair a little smile, though he wasn’t sure how believable it was. After a couple of seconds of hesitation, Alistair smiled back and straightened up, gritting his teeth against the pain. “You good to go, big man?”

“Ready when you are. I think.

-

It was a struggle getting Alistair back to the hut. He had to stop and lean against something every few minutes to catch his breath, and while Aris was an extremely patient person, he could feel that particular virtue wearing thin by the time they actually managed to get back to the hut. He made sure Alistair got his armour off before checking on him again, pushing his shirt up and looking at the turn skin to see if there was any internal bleeding or anything. There wasn’t any.

“You’re lucky you didn’t drown,” Aris said, threading a needle to stitch him up. Alistair groaned, but stayed still, laying on the bed he was going to be sleeping on. “Or bleed out, for that matter. Water stops the blood from clotting properly, you lost more blood than you should have.”

“I don’t think they were thinking about that, somehow,” Alistair said. He ran a hand through his hair, trembling, looking like he was about to drop off and sleep for the next three days. As soon as Aris stitched him up, he could.

“Alright, hold still.” Aris had heated the needle, and was almost dreading Alistair’s reaction to it, but then again, he was a Fereldan soldier… they probably did worse to recruits than Aris did to their injured, abandoned brothers.

He pushed Alistair down with one hand, and with the other, set to work, pulling together parted flesh as quickly as he was able to with just a few candles lighting the room. They cast an odd yellow light over both of them, though Aris was sure that the glint of gold in Alistair’s hair was real, not just a trick of the light. Native Fereldan’s had a certain look about them – tall and broad and usually with light hair, though not all the time. Out of armour, Alistair looked like he could have been a farmer, even with the mabari tattoo on his shoulder.

“You’re done. Try to get some rest, I’ll wake you up whenever I need to check your vitals, but I think you should sleep for as long as you need. Questions?” Aris said, sitting down heavily at the foot of Alistair’s bed. Alistair’s hand was covering the stitches, his fingers tracing them gently.

“What’s your name again?” he asked, turning his head.

“Aris.” He smiled and patted Alistair’s hand. “Get some sleep, Alistair.”

“G’night.”

“Night.”

Aris blew out the candles and left Alistair to sleep, taking his bow and quiver with him back out into the woods. He took a different path, going where he knew rams would be. He would be feeding himself _and_ quite a large Fereldan soldier for at least a week, so he had no excuse to not go out and finish his hunt tonight.

It didn’t hit him until he was hacking the head off of a ram just how _weird_ his night had turned out to be. He sat back with hands against his thighs, blood under his nails, breathing hard. He had come across people injured in the woods before, but he had never been able to do much to help them, most of them had been too far gone to even do much but put them out of their misery. This was nothing Aris had ever done before. And if his own brothers in arms had tried to kill him, he must have done something wrong. Something _bad._ Aris wasn’t sure he even wanted to think about it, but as he gutted the ram and went about harvesting whatever meat and pelt he could, he couldn’t help but wonder. Had he killed one of their own? Had he hurt innocents? Had he done something that they just didn’t agree with and they didn’t want him around anymore?

Aris sighed and wiped the sweat from his forehead, not caring much if he smeared blood on his face. He was too tired to dwell on it, but he had always had an overactive mind. It was in his nature to overthink things, even if he didn’t want to. Allegra had said that about him once, that his mind was a swarm of bees when he was nervous or scared, and it rendered him incapable of rational thought. He knew that she was right, even now, years later when he wasn’t a child anymore. A swarm of bees for a nervous mind made him worry about every little thing.

He lugged the rams meat and the pelt back to his hut and quietly strung it up, wrapping it in canvas so that the blood didn’t drip everywhere. He used to hang it outside, but this deep into winter, bears would have it, and probably destroy his home in the process, so Aris had built a room just off of the house where he could dry and cure and cook meat without worrying much about getting blood on his notes. It smelled like iron, but at least the rest of his house was clean.

Alistair was asleep, his hand still on his stomach and his head turned, facing away from the door. His chest rose and fell with each breath and he snored softly. No one had stayed in the hut with Aris for years, so the sound of another person sleeping was strange to Aris as he hung up his cloak and took off his trousers, draping them over the back of the chair so he could clean the mud from them tomorrow. He couldn’t remember if he had any appointments tomorrow, but he doubted it. He stretched on his tip toes and yawned into his hand, and crawled into bed, pulling the blankets over him and curling up into a little ball, hoping beyond hope that this was all just a very weird, vivid dream.

 

 


End file.
